EPILOGUE

The sun was setting over Los Angeles, its light painting the walls orange and gold. The evening brought with it a respite from the ever-present heat. A slight breeze stirred the stale, warm air.

The marketplace was buzzing. Tables had been set up in from of Señorita Escalante's tavern. The inhabitants of the pueblo milled about in little groups.

"They're coming, they're coming!" someone cried out from the vantage point on top the church tower.

The alcalde rode into the town first, followed by the soldiers, two by two. An empty cart rolled slowly in the rear. Two weeks earlier the same cart had been used to transport the captured deserters away from the pueblo. Barefoot children shrieked and whooped, and tried to race the horses as they passed the gate. At the entrance of the garrison, the alcalde hopped off his horse and gave the reins to the corporal. The soldiers rode in one by one, whereas Ramone himself crossed the square and stepped into the porch of the tavern.

Luis Ramone was happy. All around he could see people looking at him with respect, nay, almost with awe. As he made his speech, he soaked up their gratitude and admiration. Yes, a moment like this was something to happily dream of for years to come. It was everything he had ever wished for.

He finished his speech and made his way back to the cuartel. Oh, he'd be back, he'd have a few glasses of excellent wine and listen to people's thanks and congratulations, but first – in order to make this night truly perfect – he had something he needed to do. He took his horse's reins from Corporal Rojas, who had waited for him obediently all the while, retrieved a small sack from his saddle and walked off towards his office. The sack he had brought from Monterey was pleasantly heavy, and jingled in his hand. He would only put it in his personal, well-hidden strongbox, and he'd return to the market square, to celebrate their victory over the band of deserters and collect his due accolades. Now, just to make sure that no one would spoil the moment for him...

As he pulled the coffer out to lift the heavy lid more easily, he felt a breeze on the back of his neck. Oh no, not this, he thought. Not now, not tonight.

"Good evening, alcalde," someone behind him said. It was a voice he knew and hated. Right now it sounded a little amused, as if surprising the alcalde had been an excellent joke.

"What are you doing here?" he grunted, straightening up. The question was largely rhetorical – Ramone knew well enough what was the purpose of the visit. Still, if he could just get to his desk and the drawer where he kept a hidden pistol, the intrusion might yet prove to be the crowning glory of the evening instead of its lowest point.

"You really should have expected this, alcalde," Zorro grinned and pointed his sword at the sack lying on the desk.

"These aren't taxes," Ramone snarled. "I didn't force anyone to give me that money! You've got no right..." he finished a little less certainly.

"No, this isn't tax money," Zorro agreed. "But your soldiers and the people of the pueblo have earned a reward, too. They also fought the robbers. It seems a little unfair that all they should get nothing but some pretty words for their trouble, doesn't it?"

"And by people, you mean yourself?"

"No. I have no need of it." Zorro shrugged. "But many of those celebrating outside will be happy to hear about the alcalde's generous decision to share the reward money. Who knows, they may even grow to like you," there was a note of mockery in Zorro's voice.

"Let's say... let's say I listen to you." Ramone cautiously approached the desk. Hold the sack in one hand, move the other lower down, to the drawer handle. The drawer had been oiled, so it wouldn't squeak. Zorro was only two steps away, and he had lowered his sword. Keep your eyes on him, don't turn away even for a second – he can't know what you're really reaching for, he must be taken by surprise...

"Looking for this, alcalde?" Zorro retrieved a pistol from underneath his cloak. Ramone was speechless for a moment, so the outlaw dropped the gun on his desk. "Take my advice and get a gunsmith to look at it. It's off target to the left by quite a margin."

Ramone grabbed the pistol without saying a word. Off target or not, he couldn't miss from three steps away. Before he could raise his hand, however, what felt like a lash of fire forced it back to the desk. A heartbeat later he was flying backwards, towards the wall. Zorro's hand was around his throat.

"I knew you were a coward and a scoundrel, but I didn't think even you would stoop to shooting someone in the back," he hissed.

The alcalde was very afraid now. He felt Zorro's fingers pressing harder and harder into his neck. The pistol was still on the desk. The hubbub of the celebration outside was getting louder; the soldiers had also joined the fiesta. No one would hear his cry for help among the noise. Even if someone did, before they could get to his office, Zorro would have disappeared, leaving behind... What? A half-strangled alcalde and an empty money box? Or a dead alcalde, perhaps? This time Zorro might not forgive him the attempt on his life...

"No..." he croaked. "Mercy..."

For a moment that seemed to last an eternity Zorro did not move a muscle. Finally he relaxed his grip and Ramone fell to his knees, coughing, choking and struggling to catch his breath. After a while, a black-gloved hand caught his chin and lifted it so that he was looking Zorro in the eye.

"Do not change the rules of the game, alcalde," Zorro said with an icy calm. "If I decide to change mine, you might not get the time to beg for mercy. Remember this."

The alcalde expected to hear the sound of ripping cloth, or a creak of the desk, but Zorro disappeared like a spectre, without a sound. The fact that he hadn't left his usual mark terrified Luis Ramone even more. He knelt there for a long time, gasping for air and trying to calm his wildly beating heart, before he was able to get up and stagger off towards the marketplace, to distribute the governor's reward money.

X X X

In the square, the fiesta was getting in full swing. Jugs of wine were passed from hand to hand; a few musicians from the tavern sat down in the corner of the porch and started to play lively melodies for the people dancing by the well. Victoria hurried past the soldiers, the caballeros and the peons, distributing more jugs. She paused momentarily by Sergeant Mendoza, who was describing their reception by the governor to all and sundry, but presently she was on her way again, weaving through the celebrating crowd.

She couldn't find Diego anywhere. She'd lost sight of him right at the start, just after he'd exchanged a few words with Mendoza during Ramone's speech. She expected he'd made himself scarce because he was planning to enter the square as Zorro; she'd checked the secret hiding place under the stable roof, where he stored Zorro's clothes, and found it empty. But Zorro hadn't appeared, either. She could only suspect that his absence had to do with the sack she'd seen the alcalde carry off so hurriedly.

Finally she noticed his tall silhouette at one side of the square, under the roof of a veranda.

"Zor...?" she faltered. "Diego?"

"It's me," he replied. He was leaning back against the wall, oddly grim. She'd never seen him in that mood before.

"What happened?"

"Zorro talked to the alcalde," he answered. Something in his voice worried her.

"Diego?" she asked.

"Zorro talked... No, I did," he said flatly. "I nearly killed him," he stated. "I. Not Zorro."

For a long while she didn't know what to say, so she only wrapped an arm around Diego's waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. He returned the embrace, but he was still staring off into the distance, oddly absent-minded.

"I wanted to kill him," he finally said. "I did. Whenever I remember how he'd tried to shoot me, I still do."

"If anything had happened to Zorro... If he'd done anything to you... I'd have killed him myself," Victoria stated calmly.

"Vi!" Diego turned to her, surprised. She smiled, seeing that his dejection had disappeared.

"I'd have done it," she said.

Shouting in the market square drew their attention. The alcalde had left the garrison and was making another speech. At first his voice was rather uncertain and hoarse, but when the news of a monetary reward was greeted by loud cheers from the nearby soldiers and peons, he suddenly grinned and started distributing the money.

"He likes that," Diego observed. Victoria didn't know if he was talking about Luis Ramone or about Sergeant Mendoza, who had just received his share of the reward and was now waving enthusiastically at everyone present. She decided that Diego was more likely to be thinking about the alcalde, though.

"Do you think he's going to remember what you said to him?"

"He'll remember... I hope he will..."

Locked in an embrace, they remained there, watching the joyous commotion around them.

THE END

A/N: Thank you for your reviews. Thanks to Dizzy fire there will be third part soon